Sidekick
by I Am The Prince of Wales
Summary: In the shadows of World War II, Peter becomes a vigilante's sidekick, Sylar takes a job as a mild-mannered newspaper reporter, and certain major players try to take control of the War for their own ends.
1. Analog Heroes

**Title:** _Sidekick_**_  
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**Rating: **Call it a hard T.**  
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**Standard disclaimers: **All "Heroes" characters and properties are owned by NBC and related entities. Respect to Kring, Beeman, etc. **  
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**Notes: ** This started out as a pretty basic concept: "what if Peter was Robin?" and very quickly became something much bigger. Eventually, this one is going to feature everybody.

**1940 **

**Peter Petrelli**

**Outside Linderman Brothers Traveling Circus**

When he woke up on the dirt floor, Peter Petrelli's first thought was sheer amazement that he had survived the fall. Then they told him he was the only one of the Flying Petrellis had could make that claim, and suddenly the fact he was walking away without so much as a broken bone in his body didn't to matter all that much.

His mother and father, his little brothers Simon and Monty... he was all that was left.

The tightrope had snapped in mid-air... but that didn't make sense. His father knew their equipment better than anyone else in the world and he examined thoroughly it before every show.

This was no accident, someone had done this to him.

"I imagine you're feeling rather directionless now," a voice called out of nowhere.

"Who?" Peter darted his head around in confusion.

"And I thought perhaps the thing for it might be revenge," the voice continued.

Then a figure began to appear before Peter; gradually as though his eyes were adjusting to the darkness. "I don't normally take an active hand in these things, you understand," the other man explained. "But I thought I might make an exception this time. _They_ clearly don't want you alive, which is reason enough to make sure you stay that way."

Peter continued to stare at the other man in utter confusion. He was tall and gaunt, with a mess of blond hair that looked as though it hadn't seen a comb since the Market crashed. "Who... are... you?" Peter managed to cough out.

"I'm the one that's going to train you, to help you find the ones who did this to your family and make them pay." The older man laughed with real amusement. "I'm the god damn Invisible Man."

Peter stared hard at the other man. He honestly wished he had other options.

**Ando Masahashi**

**Imperial Palace**

Ando had never felt more overwhelmed than he did at this moment. The Emperor himself was just beyond this wall. A man of Ando's standing should have never been allowed this far into the Imperial Residence, should have been never been permitted to gave upon the opulence of his surroundings, yet here he was. It was truly an epic moment for him.

He just wished it could have been under better circumstances.

The door swung open and Kaito Nakamura, a man who looked every bit like he belonged there, stepped out.

"Did you speak to the Emperor?" Ando asked eagerly.

Kaito nodded. His expression was unreadable, but that was always the case.

Ando was hovering around the older man like a hungry puppy. "And will he withdraw from Mancukuo? Will he severe ties with the Germans?"

After a long moment of silence, Kaito cast down his eyes. "He is unmovable. The War will not only continue, it will expand. It is only beginning."

"But, the paintings," Ando protested.

"The Emperor does not put much faith in the work of foreigners," Kaito replied almost sadly.

Ando cast his head down in utter defeat. "Then I have failed to save Japan."

As usual, Kaito Nakamura said nothing.

**Gabriel Gray**

**Hartsdale, New York**

"Gee, Mr. Gray," Cub Reporter Jimmy West swooned, "how is it you're always there to get those great stories?"

"You know I can't tell you that, Jimmy, a reporter's only as good as his secrets," Sylar replied, looking straight ahead and giving a smile and a wink to no one in particular.

"Well, you're not going to scoop me this time, Gray, that's for darn sure," Plucky Girl Reporter Michelle Wilmer snapped.

Sylar smiled sincerely at Michelle. Maybe someday he'd settle down and tell her his secret.

Suddenly, Editor-in-Chief Bob Bishop burst into the room. "Good God, people, what are my two best reporters doing lounging around here when there's a train crash just outside town! Somebody get on it, who knows how many people could be injured or dying right now!"

Sylar snapped out of his chair, then searched desperately for an excuse to leave. "I, uh, have to wind my watch," he offered lamely as prepared to run off into action.

When he was safely out of range, Michelle let the illusion fade.

"'I have to wind my watch?'" Michelle winced. "His excuses keep getting worse and worse."

"We had a choice between dealing with clock obsession and curing him of his pathological need to murder," Bob cut back harshly. "I like to think we made the right decision."

"It would be easier just to blow his brains out," Michelle said ruefully.

"Unquestionably," Bob agreed, "but that's not what the Company wants."

For the first time, Michelle looked at him with real fear. "Bob, even I can't keep an illusion up forever."

"And you _won't have to,"_ Bob assured her. "Once we're sure that the Sylar personality has been completely replaced by this new... 'Watch-Man'... we make him believe this building has been destroyed and all of us with it." He shrugged. "All true heroes are born in tragedy."

Michelle was unconvinced, and Bob found himself noticing how tired she seemed. "This isn't going to end well."

Bob placed a paternal arm on her shoulder. "This War is going to get a lot worse before it gets better, Candice, and a man like Gray could make a world of difference in Europe." She was looking down, so Bob softly brought her eyes up to meet his. "Listen, I've been with you your whole life. You know I wouldn't put you in danger."

Michelle nodded. "You've been like a father to me," she agreed.

Bob nodded.

"...But I've seen what you've done to your daughter," she finished coldly, turning to walk away.

**Office of the Prime Minister**

The Prime Minister stared out his window in rapt fascination. Logically he knew his eyes and ears weren't sharp enough, but he felt as though he could see and hear the impact of each bomb the German _Luftwaffe_ mercilessly rained down on his homeland. But he couldn't possibly.

He could _feel_ it though.

He could feel the course of history, history that he had already so easily changed, rushing through him. This was the nexus point; the time when he could correct all the past mistakes and finally change the world for the better.

He studied a report he had been given earlier that day. They had cracked the Nazi's codes and could determine where the next target would be; some of his aides even believed they'd be able to evacuate whole towns with little to no loss of life. But he had rejected the idea outright; they couldn't act without revealing their biggest advantage to the enemy, who would only adopt a new code and continue as before. As difficult as it was to accept, they would have to consider the people in those towns as acceptable losses in the long run.

"And if there's one thing I understand," the Prime Minister crooned after they had left him, "it 's acceptable losses. Right... Carp?"


	2. State of the Union Suit

**Peter Petrelli**

**Outside New York City**

Every ounce of the acrobatic skills Peter had honed growing up in the circus were put to the test as rod after rod of rusted steel was hurled directly at him. He flipped into the air to dodge the rod aimed at his legs, then had to tuck and roll to evade one aimed at his head. Even with all of his father's training, Peter found himself nearly getting clipped on the ankle or narrowly missing losing a stray finger more times than he could count, but somehow he managed to survive the onslaught unscathed.

"Look, I'm training you for revenge not ballet, so stop dancing around like that!" Claude roared in frustration.

Peter cocked his head to the side and looked at Claude like he'd just escaped from Arkham. "You're throwing metal _poles_ at me."

"That's right, I am," Claude agreed boisterously. "But if one of them actually hits you, what's the worst that's going to happen? Is it going to kill you? Or are you going to get up again?" Peter didn't answer him, so Claude grabbed one of the poles from the ground and studied it studiously. "Let's find out, shall we?" he said casually before promptly stabbing Peter viciously through the sternum. 

Peter fell to the ground, clutching his sucking wound. Whatever Claude had hit, it was most definitely vital. "Are you insane?" he managed to cough out between gallons of blood.

"Now, heal that," Claude demanded exuberantly.

"_I can't..._" Peter gasped.

Claude shrugged. "Well, the only other option is dying of blood loss, so I suggest you try."

But as much as Peter wanted to comply, dying just seemed like the more viable option at that point. "Huhg..."

Claude rolled his eyes in frustration. "Look, I know you've absorbed my power and God only knows who else's. You walked away from the fall that killed your parents... so you must have met someone who could heal themselves at some point. Maybe it would help if you try to remember who it was. Focus on something concrete. Just stop bleeding so damn much."

If Peter had met any kind of healer, he didn't remember him, but Claude had accidentally hit on another sticking point. His parents... his little brothers... the whole reason he'd put up with Claude's insane training regimen so far was his chance to get revenge on their killer. If he died now, that would never happen.

And suddenly, the wound Claude had just inflicted on him began to repair itself, and, to his own amazement, Peter found himself getting back on his feet.

"Congratulations," Claude grinned. You're finally learning to fight like one of us."

**Noah Bennet**

**Oak Ridge, Tennessee**

Bennet glanced around the room coldly. The men before him were the greatest scientific minds the United States government could bring together; the best and the brightest in all of the free world. When the United States was inevitably pulled into the War, they would be the nation's best hope for victory and together they knew more about atomic science then anyone else in the Western Hemisphere. But not a man among them could predict what they were about to learn tonight.

"Gentlemen," he began slowly, "we've known for sometime now that the Germans have been looking into atomic weaponry," Dr. Bennet said as though he were broadcasting the news. "Now we have information that they've made the breakthrough they needed." 

There was a murmur of concern through the room, which Bennet silenced with a wave of his hand. He gestured towards the monumentally unassuming man seated to his right. "Mr. Parkman was attempting to flee to Switzerland when we caught up with him. It was during his time in Germany that he was able to overhear a conversation between two prominent German officials," which was a half-truth, but one Bennet felt was necessary given the circumstances. "Tell everyone what you learned, Mr. Parkman."

Maury stood up and surveyed the room ruefully. He'd done everything he could to escape the Germans, probably leaving his own family to die in the process, only to be captured by the Americans. He wasn't sure how they were blocking his powers, but he'd figure out a way around it. And when he did...

"Mr. Parkman," Bennet said tersely.

Parkman shot him an angry glance. "They've found it. They've found what they needed."

The room of distinguished men of science broke out in startled gasps. Only Bennet was unaffected. "Tell them the rest," he ordered.

Again, Maury let his resentment be known, but complied. "It's a man," he explained. "They've got an exploding man."

**Robert Bishop**

**Hartsdale, New York**

As soon as he stepped into Sylar's holding cell, Bob couldn't help but notice that Manhattan seemed to be in the middle of a major earthquake. With Sylar presumably out dealing with the problem, he turned to Michelle for an explanation. "You do realize this goes against all known plate tectonics?"

Michelle shrugged. "Mad scientist with an earthquake machine."

Bob eyed her dubiously.

"It was either that or dinosaurs," she explained. "I'm running out of emergency scenarios."

Bob nodded. "Well, that won't be an issue for much longer."

"We're gonna kill him?" Michelle asked hopefully.

Bob shook his head. "Sadly, no. The Company thinks he's ready for field work."

Michelle blanched. "_'Field work?'_ You don't even let me out there!"

"We won't be sending him alone, obviously," Bob assured her. "He'll have a partner just like everyone else."

"And whoever you send with him will come back with the top of their head missing," Michelle replied flatly. "I'll tell you right now I won't do it."

"As it stands..."

But whatever Bob was about to say was interrupted when the door behind them swung open and his secretary stepped into the room. "Mr. Bishop," Eden began, keeping her eyes warily on Michelle, "Jessica is waiting in your office."

Bob nodded. "I have to take care of this," he informed Michelle.

"Tell Twoface I say 'hi'," she teased without mirth.

"You know she hates that name," Bob cautioned.

Michelle shrugged, clearly not too concerned with this information.

Bob crossed through the hallway and back into reality. Jessica Hawkins was indeed waiting for him, looking more than a little frightened of him. She was among the world's most brutal killers, could literally rip him in two, but anyone who'd met Elle tended to step cautiously around Bob. "You botched the Petrelli job."

Jessica shook her head a little too rapidly; her weaker personality was clearly in command. "No, sir, I followed the orders completely. There's no way anyone could have walked away from that fall."

"Peter Petrelli did."

Jessica shoot back in her chair. "I wasn't sure of that myself until this morning..."

"Well, we do our research a little more thoroughly here, Nicole," Bob bit with cold anger. "When a body gets up and walks away, we don't wait for confirmation from the coroner."

"I'm sorry," she nearly sobbed.

Bob was clearly unswayed. "You failed to deliver the primary target," he insisted. "Even knowing how many people will die because of him, you failed."

"Give me another chance," she pleaded. "If I have to rip him to shreds, I'll make sure he stays dead."

Bob nodded, showing her the first hints of sympathy since he walked in the door. "One more chance," he promised.

Jessica brought her face up in a hesitant smile. "Thank you."

Bob face snapped back to stoic. "But you won't go it alone. I'm assigning you a partner this time. One of our newer operatives."

Jessica's eyes widened in terror once again. Involuntarily, she found herself looking towards Sylar's cell.

**Linderman Steel Works**

**Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania**

Somehow Linderman didn't need to turn away from the window to recognize the girl behind him. "Welcome back, Claire," he greeted with paternal warmth. "How did you enjoy my circus?"

"You mean before or after all those people started dying around me?" Claire replied bitterly.

Linderman shook his head sadly. "Regrettable, of course, but this is war and we can't save everyone." He placed an arm gently on her shoulder and smiled beneficently down upon her. "Your powers are an amazing gift, Claire, but you can't share them with everyone. But if you were able to pass your gift on to Peter Petrelli, then we can put an end to this War with the smallest loss of life possible."

Claire nodded sadly. "I just wish I could have done something for the rest of his family."

"Of course you do," Linderman smiled. "But you should focus on the life you _were_ able to save. Peter Petrelli_ is_ the key to your father's plan, after all."

Claire found herself softening at the mention of her birth-father. "My Dad... is he really Prime Minister of England?"

Linderman wrapped Claire up in a warm, protective hug. "That is what he's told me," he assured her softly, "but in my heart I will always be your father."

Claire smiled sweetly as she fit her head under Linderman's chin. "I love you, Dad."


	3. Heavy Traffic In Mig Alley

**Peter & Claude**

**Outside New York City**

"Okay, this train is going to take care of the next leg of your training," Claude whispered, indicating the massive locomotive pulling into their stop.

"What," Peter asked, "you want me to see if I can outrun it?"

Claude gave a typical exasperated sigh. "No, retard, we're going to jump it."

Peter blinked, not comprehending. "What?"

"Keep yourself invisible, hop on, and it's going to carry us to the other side of the country," Claude said slowly, clearly feeling he was speaking to the mentally handicapped.

"Isn't that against the law?" Peter asked innocently.

"I would imagine so, yes," Claude granted. "But you've just lost everything and I live in a trainyard, so unless you've learned to teleport..."

"Not so far as I know," Peter replied. "Where are we going?"

Claude smiled in a manner that probably wasn't intended to seem wicked. "Learning to use your powers is only half of your journey, Peter. If you're going to win the fight ahead, you'd better pick up some new ones, too. We're going to find other people with abilities and see if you can't absorb them, too."

Peter nodded. "So, you're done stabbing me in the gut?"

Claude shook his head. "You know, you're terribly naive. Here's the train."

**Gabriel Gray**

**Hartsdale, New York**

Sylar howled painfully as he dropped to his knees. The building lie in ruins all around him, and with it the bodies of the Chief, Michelle, young Jimmy West, and countless others strewn all over the ground all around him.

"I failed!" Sylar roared with immeasurable agony. "I wasn't fast enough to save them."

He turned his gaze skyward.

"I FAILED!!"

Jessica stepped up next to him gracefully. "But you can still give their deaths meaning."

Sylar said nothing, but seemed to be somewhat receptive, so Jessica nervously continued with her script.

"This was the work of German saboteurs, here in the States," she said, trying to sound like she wasn't waiting for him to rip her head open. "We can hunt them down... together. Keep this from happening again."

Sylar let his head drop back down.

"It's what they would have wanted," Jessica added nervously.

Sylar gave a slow, heavy nod.

On the other side of the room, safely cloaked from being seen or heard, Bob Bishop observed the scene dispassionately. "It looks like he's coming along."

Michelle was less convinced. "It freaks me out to see he standing over my corpse like that..."

She looked Bob right in the eye. "It's too much like looking into the future for me."

"Michelle..."

"He's going to kill all of us," she said for what was probably the thousandth time in as many days. "He's going to come back here and kill all of us. He can't _not_ do that."

Bob opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by the anachronistic beeping of his watch. "Excuse me, I have to attend to my daughter."

His tone apparently contained enough of a threat for Michelle at the moment. "I'll be here."

Bob nodded and left the room, weaving his way through the endless corridors and down the spiraling staircases of the Facility, offering a warm greeting to every one of his employees he passed until he finally came to the darkest corner of the deepest basement in the building, the legendary Room 00.

"Good evening, sir," the guard at the door greeted him.

Bob smiled. "Hello, Gregory. Has my daughter's 'breakfast' been brought down yet?"

Gregory nodded and handed Bob the locked metal briefcase. "Are you going to need any help this time, sir?"

Bob shook his head. "I don't think there'll be any problem, thank you."

Gregory nodded again and opened the door for Bob, who proceeded right through.

"Hello, Elle," Bob half-sang. "It's time for your medication."

"...the most accurate analogies would actually be the immune system of a living universe, repairing the damage and dealing with viral infections," Elle droned on, her eyes all blue and nobody home.

"Yes, yes, of course," Bob replied condescendingly. He then set the briefcase down on the small table next to Elle's bed, opened the locks, and extracted the largest and most wicked-looking of syringes and a small vial.

"Unfortunately, the Primary Infections is cancerous, with these very cells being corrupted against the system," Elle continued. "The Banker, The Judge, The Bishop, and The Duke..."

Obviously his first thoughts after the experiment had gone so horribly awry and his only child's brain forfeit were to simply have Elle lobotomized, but he quickly found he simply couldn't do it.

Not with her reflexes kicking in and electrocuting every surgeons he could hire.

"...an unhealthy universe can finally be fully restored by the injection of the Doctor, here given bodily form as..." at which point the needle delivered its payload and Elle promptly lost consciousness.

Bob shook his head heavily.

She had been making life harder for him from day one.


	4. Gods and Monsters

**Linderman Steel Works**

**Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania**

Linderman had been going through some paperwork when his adopted daughter walked into his office.

"Daddy," Claire said, "Mr. Hawkins is here to see you."

"Excellent," Linderman replied crisply, "send him right in."

Claire nodded and turned to leave, when Linderman called back after her.

"Claire!"

She froze in place.

"Is something troubling you, dear?" he asked gently.

"It's just..." she began nervously.

"Yes?" Linderman prodded gently.

"I was kind of wondering when we're going to go to England," she admitted.

Linderman smiled all the broader. "You're anxious to meet your real father, I take it?"

Claire shook her head. "You're my real father," she insisted. "It's just... I'm a little curious, that's all."

Linderman nodded. "I understand completely. I just have to finish up this business with Mr. Hawkins and clear up a few things with Mr. Petrelli's case and we'll be off to meet the Prime Minister."

Claire smiled brightly and turned to walk back to the antechamber.

She returned seconds later with D.L., whom she directed to a chair before turning to leave once more.

"Hello, Daniel," Linderman greeted warmly. "How have you been, my boy."

"Don't call me 'boy.'" D.L. cut. "What's this all about."

Linderman just kept right on smiling like Father Christmas. "I take you'd rather we got right to the purpose of your visit. Very well."

Linderman crouched down slightly so that he was at eye-level with D.L. "There is a man being held in Germany. A man of power, like yourself."

D.L.'s eyes went wide. "How did..."

He quickly recovered and steeled himself once more. "So, what do you need?"

Linderman nodded. "Your abilities are uniquely suited to a rescue mission. This man is very important and the Germans cannot be allowed the full range of his abilities."

D.L. scratched his chin. "And if it's just me and I get caught, the Government can still claim to be neutral, right?"

"Well, I'd imagine so," Linderman granted, "but I'm not to tell them about it."

D.L. froze. "So, this really has nothing to with the boys in Washington?"

Linderman shrugged. "I can't imagine you feel much of a debt to them... after the took your wife and son and sold them to a private concern."

D.L.'s face changed when he heard that. "No, they... they took Nicole away to get help."

Linderman nodded. "Yes, I imagine that's what they would have told you," he said softly, letting D.L. stew slowly. "But I'm afraid they're motives may not have been as pure as you were lead to believe."

D.L. turned to face him. "What do you mean 'sold?'"

Linderman placed the file he had been studying earlier in D.L.'s lap. "Just that. Your wife and son were traded for financial security and military intelligence to a Company with a history of using people like you and wife as weapons... soldiers... even as breeding stock." He pointed to the file. "It's all right there, you can see for yourself."

D.L. studied the file for a few moments until it made him it made too sick to go on and he slammed the file shut.

"If I do this," D.L. said, barely a whisper, "you're going to help me get her back?"

Linderman smiled.

**Peter & Claude**

**Somewhere in the Midwest**

Peter had been traveling with the Circus long enough that he wasn't that bothered about crossing the country by train.

In fact, he was fairly certain he would have been completely comfortable with it, if only he was sitting peacefully in one of the compartments, even one of the cramped and arid ones he had been accustomed to.

It was the standing on the roof that bothered him.

"I don't like this, Claude," Peter voiced. "All this wind whipping around... it reminds me too much of how my parents died."

"That's good," Claude replied simply. "The second you forget that moment you become officially useless to me."

Peter nodded. He realized now that it did seem a little stupid to expect sympathy from Claude at this point. "So, what's this exercise you brought me up here for?"

Claude held up a hand for Peter to wait, then, after seeing some invisible landmark, turned back to face his student. "All right, here's the exercise. Remember when I tried to kill you yesterday?"

Peter nodded, his face pulled back in a scowl.

Claude just smiled a little wider. "Well, I'm going to _keep_ trying. I am going to try harder and harder every time, and I am going to learn from my every failure, so you'll either have to keep learning new tricks or give up and let me kill you."

Peter cocked his head. "Is that all you..." was as much as he was able to get out before Claude punched him sharply in the face.

"Well, that's what the Enemy is going to be doing, so I suggest you get used to it now," Claude said snidely.

"I wasn't ready!" Peter snarled.

Claude just punched him again, this time going for the eyes. "And you never will be."

Claude went in for another blow, which Peter dodged.

"You think they're going to wait for you to be ready?" Claude mocked. "You think they're going to ease up on you? They already killed your entire family to get at you?"

This got Peter angry enough that he finally take a swing, which Claude evaded and revisited on him fourfold. "You're supposed to be teaching me about my powers!" Peter howled.

"And I am teaching you about Power," Claude replied cheerfully. Peter attempt another punch and Claude took the opportunity to grab both his hands. "Those who have Power will always use it to beat down those who don't." Claude gave Peter's hands a good, sharp twist until he heard them pop. "If you want to stand up them, if you want to stop them, hell, if you even want to_ survive_, you'd better be willing to go just as far."

He release his grip and Peter clutched his injured arms to himself, screaming in pain.

And then Claude kicked him off of the roof of the train.

"Understand?" he asked cheerfully.

As he fell, Peter was able to clutch onto the edge of the roof, but he knew he couldn't last long. Even with his hands healing as fast as they could, he couldn't hold on for long. The second he tried to climb back up, though, he knew he would have to leave himself open and Claude would take advantage of his weakness and give him the final shove over. And even with his enhanced healing powers, Peter wasn't sure he could survive falling off of a moving train.

Or getting caught under one.

"Claude!" Peter pleaded. "Please! Pull me up!"

"You really haven't got it yet, have you?" Claude snarled. "This isn't a sparring gym."

He slammed his hobnailed boot down hard onto Peter's hand.

"Arghh!" Peter screamed.

"It's an operating table," Claude growled.

He brought his boot down again, this time harder.

"And I'm the surgeon."

Peter had to think. It didn't make sense that Claude would drag him all this way just to kill him. There had to be a reason he had dragged him on the top of _this_ train, at _this _time.

While still straining himself to maintain his grip for the few last precious seconds, Peter tried to reach out his consciousness. Claude had said they were traveling to meet someone, it was just a matter of figuring out who.

And then he saw her for the first time.

He didn't know who she was, but that wasn't important. What mattered was that she really _was_ running alongside the train, as he'd joked days earlier. And she wasn't just keeping pace with it.

She was _running circles around the train_.

And then Peter had it. Faster than Claude could follow, much less stop, Peter shot himself back up, barreling the other man over in process.

"I'm going to kill you, you psychopath!" Peter snarled.

Claude, however, couldn't stop laughing. "Excellent! Excellent! You're finally starting to come around!"

Peter looked down at Claude's wicked, smiling face and suddenly felt very sick.

"Yeah, I am," he replied. "and I'm done."

And then Claude's smile faded. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm through with your sick games," Peter said, turning his back on his teacher. "This isn't getting me any closer to finding my parents killers... if it wasn't just you all along," he said ruefully. "It's not even about teaching me about my powers or helping me get new ones... it's just you trying to prove you're in control. Well, I'm done playing along, Claude.

"I quit," he spat, using his new power to speed far into the distance.

Claude shook his head. "If only it were that easy."

And then he reached into his battered old coat, extracted a mobile phone over half a century away from being produced, and dialed up the only number in memory.

"I'm afraid he's just taken a runner," Claude told the voice on the other end. "No, I'm sure he'll be back... we just need to make sure he has a rough time on his own. Right."

Claude severed the connection and smiled to himself. Everything was going according to plan.


End file.
